


Five Ponderable Reasons To Buy A Whoopie Cushion

by friends_call_me_wobbly_hands



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Adults being adults, Angst and Humor, Babybones, Everyone Has Emotional Baggage And Everyone Is Bottling It Up, Fluff and Humor, Gen, Happy Ending Vague But Implied, Lots of good times, Minor Character Death, POV First Person, POV Sans, Random Heavy Flirting, Slice of Life, basically a journey for sans from an excitable teen to a depressed adult, kids being kids, major character being canonly blasted across time and space, occasional bad times, smut free, told by him himself so it's one heck of a story
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-02
Updated: 2018-04-10
Packaged: 2018-12-10 04:18:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 14,803
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11683896
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/friends_call_me_wobbly_hands/pseuds/friends_call_me_wobbly_hands
Summary: "So. I've been aching to start a journal for ages, and I hope this will actually be one. A journal. I'm all in high hopes about it. Well, all I can do is try not to let it become another school paper. After all, they say three is a magical number, right?"Weirdly enough, as Sans grows up and the whole world changes around him, only one thing stays the same. A universal constant.He will never understand why the universe granted immortality to a silly little lump of rubber and bad humor, but hey, it's not like he is completely against the idea.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I swear I have no idea what is going on but I still like it

...So.

I've been aching to start a journal for ages, and I hope this will actually be one. A journal. I'm all in high hopes about it. Well, all I can do is try not to let it become another school paper. After all, they say three is a magical number, right?

(By the way, that's complete rubbish. Somebody here has studied all the "magical" numbers, and none of them had any actual power on their own. Maybe I should tell Majick some day. I should put an end to the lie he lives in. Someone has to.

Miraculously, though, they work if you mix them with something else. If you make a spell three times, for example, it's more likely to do anything. It could be the repetition that does the trick, of course, but I think it tells you a lot about clever combination, you know? Like, they say that certain soul traits act better together than alone, and of course there are magic types that neutralize each other, and actually it is a very interesting...  
Oops. Not a school paper. Noted. Never again).

So the thing is, the old man's been really quiet as of lately. I mean, he is pretty quiet _all the time_ , but usually you'd get to hear _a word_ in _a week_ at least, and now he isn't even close to this impressive record. He still keeps hold of his old records, though, like those of hardcore lack of sleep - or the quantity of dirty coffee mugs - and those _literal_ records made of paper and ink where he puts his thoughts.

And it's not that weird, I guess. I talked to some colleague of his (behind his back, of course, and I had to move _a lot_ to stay behind it because he can't boast of being wide), and they said that denial is a sort of a coping mechanism. Well, I guess when you work yourself down to the bone - yes, _yes I know_ it's funny cause I am a skeleton, yeah, _thanks for noticing_ , - when you work hard, your mind doesn't stop on things you don't want to think twice about. And I guess you can understand that, too. Because no one's predicted the _thing_ , and no one even thought something like this could happen at all, and no one would even imagine that...

Uh. Nevermind. But, well. You can't stay down forever, really.

The thing is, it looks like the guy has decided to prove on his own example that you can stay down for as long as you want if you are resolved enough. And I can't let other people be sulky around me. Come on, it is almost a personal insult! I am extremely professional for an underage part-time home comedian! Maybe less so for an underage part-time home _scientist_ , but hey, I am trying. And, well, I really want to lift his spirits, maybe not enough to make them the first spirits in space, but enough to make their sorry butts leave the surface. Maybe just for a day, you know? Or an hour. Or a moment. I am not a demanding guy at all.

Speaking about spirits in space, do you know that team that… ok, you probably don’t know them at all, but there is a team there at the labs who are trying to get some money to build rockets, I kid you not, _real deal_ ones. Not for space, sadly, but still. They say that maybe we have been handling that barrier thing wrong from the very beginning, and maybe we simply have to punch it really hard. Ha ha. But hey, they are serious about it – they even asked the King to evacuate the whole New Home for experiments once, to blow up stuff at the Barrier. Of course he never allowed them to. Which is nice, because I don’t want to live anywhere else, Waterfall is too wet and Snowdin is too cold and Hotland is simply out of question because, you know, lava. If you still don’t understand why, I’ll give you a hint: Paps really likes two things in his life, bright stuff and running, and something tells me G won’t be happy to have to relearn the number of children in his charge.

Oh. Right. G.  
  
So, naturally, it’s his birthday coming, and I start searching for a good present, but as always he says he doesn’t need anything. Really, that is not helping in the slightest! It only makes you feel guilty to even offer something. That, and also he has that funny little habit of looking at you like you are something the lab rat dragged in when you are only opening your mouth to say “hey, you have quite a long face lately, so, would you maybe like a new _mug_?” Usually I take the following silence as a yes, but something tells me that maybe he won’t be that glad to add the eleventh mug to his growing collection. No joke is funny when it is that old. 

This time I have fallen low enough to even ask Paps for advice, but, well. He says he will draw a picture. He always draws a picture, someone had the “sense” to tell him he draws great, and now we get pictures as birthday presents, and Christmas presents, and all other types of presents. Those are usually pictures of matchstick figures with potato heads, drawn in impressionist manner, with an atmosphere of a drunken sloppy dance about them. I mean, I appreciate the gesture, and he _is_ getting better, but I have no free space in my drawers anymore. A week ago I dared wrap my dinner in one of the older pictures and oh, the holy wrath that poured down upon me when he found out. He said I am not getting any more pictures, because I don’t know how to handle art. Honestly, I said that I truly deserve this punishment, and when he forgave me a day later I insisted on him keeping his word because _such_ a terrible person as me doesn’t deserve _such_ masterpieces handed to him after _such_ a behavior.

(The funniest part is that the old man tuned in on what’s going on and wrapped _all_ of his sandwiches in pictures – I doubt he even ate them all, he literally grabbed _everything_ we had in the fridge and threw into those sandwiches - but it seems it didn’t quite work. Paps said he officially gave up on giving us a better art taste.)

Right, presents. I kind of shrink, because I feel like I have to give him something, anything. He looks really down, you know. He never looks anywhere near happy, to be honest, but now it’s like he doesn’t even pay much attention to anything except work anymore, and that is alarming. I bet the next stage will be him ignoring his work as well, and, well, then he’s probably ready to be carried away in a box, on the shoulders of four stout black monsters, to the sad music of a brass band.

I keep pondering what to give him, and all my variants kind of suck, and all of a sudden I have only a day left before his birthday and whoops, I am still out of presents. I start drawing a picture.

( _Gravely serious_! Those four stout black monsters. That are carrying the poor G in a box. They are _gravely_ serious.

…Too late, isn’t it? Um. Excuse me.)

And the story would end right there and then if I didn’t, well, if I didn’t decide to be a butt and run off when I was supposed to look after Papyrus – which is not a funny thing to do, I swear! I mean, yeah, he can be hilarious at times; sure, all kids are. But much more often he is just – like. He makes a mess of everything, and then he starts screaming because he hates mess, and he makes sure that all his toys are put in the right way – _oh don’t put Mr. Pompom next to Rosiebuttons, Sans, they are huffy with each other!_ – and he always goes to places he shouldn’t go to, takes things he shouldn’t take, does things he shouldn’t do and screams too much. Yeah, yeah, I get it, I am the bigger bro and blah-blah-blah, responsibility. But I have a life of my own! I can’t spend it looking after a messy annoying _baby_!

So, ok, I run off – I told our housemaid that Paps needed something and she probably ended up looking after him so it’s no big deal – I run and suddenly I bump into those two girls. See, they are basically the radio of our street, only they don’t have dead air or boring business talks. They do everything together, and, to be honest, I am still not sure which one is Bratty and which one is Catty; they talk in chorus anyway, so you can just throw any name at them and enjoy.

They are always in a hurry to get somewhere they are not yet, but now I notice it is some special kind this time; the _purposeful_ hurry. One of them, the cat-like one, tries to sink in a chat with me, but her crocodile-like friend just literally pulls her away before she can get over her first sentence. Which is, you know, unusual, - they are always down for a chat, even when you are not up to it yourself, - and I manage to catch the speeding crocodile by her tail.

“Wow, wow. Rude. What’s up, punks?” I say. “Is there a fire or something?”

“Almost!” they thrill together and start giggling right away. See, like I said: names are just a nuisance. “There is a new shop right there, next to the Third-Turn-Away-From-The-Main-Street clothes shop, but not as close as the Dead-End-In-The-Left-Alley grocery shop!” I swear to stars, those are real street names. “I heard – we heard – that it sells all sorts of things, funny things, weird things, things like glittery slime or those – those glasses with fake nose and mustache? We are going there!”

And here, yes, right here at this moment, I have a sudden epiphany. I literally can hear the angels with harps above me. And they all sing in unison when I manage to utter: “I’m coming with you”, and golden rays of light shine down upon me when the girls all but drag me to the magical new shop.

It really _is_ awesome. I mean it! I really mean it! Everything is so noisy, and so lively, and so colorful it’s almost painful to look at, especially after the labs; and it is so simple and goofy and silly – I mean, _I_ know how the bombs and dangerous reagents _should_ look – and somehow it all still fits in, except for me myself. I feel like I am far too serious for such a place. Even if it isn’t true.

And so here I am at the store, in a lab coat and everything, looking like I came to Rome for the sole reason to piss off the Romans. I am stupefied for a second by the buzz here, - it’s nothing like the buzz in the labs, where everyone is orderly and all mess is precisely controlled, - and when I come back to my senses there’s some guy dancing around me.

“Oh, are you trying on our evil scientist outfit? Cool! Only it shouldn’t look like this; there,” and they loosen my collar and leave the coat askew, and adjust the beige so it droops slightly to the left, and when a mirror is put swiftly in front of me I see that I look awfully like G in his worst days. I guess that means that the “evil scientist outfit” is perfect.

“Can I have a dirty coffee mug with that?” I ask, chuckling. “To put the final touch”.

“Of course! Also, exactly how evil you want to look? We have plastic bombs and explosives for the most dangerous villains, potions for the lesser evils – those that turn all your enemies rainbow-colored or something – party tricks for the secretly good evil scientists – all sorts of stuff – also cloudy glasses, torn notebooks, half-bitten pens, mustaches, beards, wigs, gloves, ties, beiges…”

I bet the lights in my eyes are practically star-shaped at this point.

“So, should I wrap the outfit for you? Or you want to wear it straight away?”

“Oh. Um. Nope”, I say, shrugging, “it’s actually _mine_. You still can put a pink bow on me or something if you like”.

“Jeez!” The guy squeaks and starts trying to adjust my coat back. “You should’ve said!”

“Pff, nah. I like it better this way”. Which is true – I think about actually walking like this all the time. Or maybe… “Can I see some of those things you told me about?”

And then I drown in stands and shelves. It’s like a blackout. I swear, I am clearly in a daze at the moment, because next thing I know is that I am standing at our front door with four packages in my arms and one balanced on my shoulder. My grin is maniacal enough to make our housemaid scream when she opens the door to me.

Papyrus watches me solemnly as I stumble in with my load and says, “You look like a drunk Santa”.

“How do you know what drunk Santa looks like?” I ask, because, um, I feel genuinely interested where he could have gotten an idea of what drunk is like. If it was from me – oh, I am _so_ grounded.

“Bratty and Catty told me”, he says seriously, as if Bratty and Catty were the epitome of world knowledge. “They said drunk monsters look crazy and laugh a lot and do weird things and also fall over all the time”. He watches me thoughtfully. “Are you a drunk monster?”

“Nope, I wasn’t the last time I checked”, I say.

“I’m gonna draw you drunk”, he mumbles. He chews on a red crayon, smudging it all over his mouth so he looks like a cannibal. “I will give you a big swirly eye so everyone knows you are drunk, because drunk looks crazy. Do you think a swirly eye looks crazy?”

“Yep. Totally nuts”, I say, fumbling through the packages and trying to keep it discreet.

“Gasp! What do you have there?!”

“Nothing. Just homework”.

“No! No, no, no, it’s _presents_!” – and the next second he is already buzzing all around me, trying to peep into the parcels, tear off my arm, climb onto my head and probably take a dive to the ceiling at the same time.

“Jeez, kid. Are _you_ drunk?” I say.

“Nu-huh! _You_ are drunk! Show me, show me what you have!”

“Nope. I am not showing anything to drunk monsters, and you are _totally_ drunk. Jeez, how much booze did you have this night?” I ask, tickling him.

“I – hee hee hee! I am not! _You_ are – _you_ – hee hee! – show me or I am telling – eeh hee hee hee hee! What is – I dunno what is – hee hee! – what is booze?”

“No, no, _no_ , you _are_ , you are _very_ drunk. Trust me I know”, I say. “And booze is, well, booze is what ghosts make to make monsters drunk”.

“B… because _boo_ -ze?” Hey, the kid got it.

“Totally. Now run along or something. I am a very busy person”.

“No-o-o. You are a kid, Sans”, he says in a condescending tone, crossing his arms. “Like me. You are a kid”.

“Nope. I am a proper adult. I even have a job”.

“I job too! I watch over Redcheeks because she is sick. I am a doctor!”

“Nah, you are a teeny weeny baby bone”, I say, because I know how much this outrages him.

“No! No, no, no, I am a big bone! I am very big and I know everything and you are just silly, you don’t understand!”

“Kid, you eat crayons. Only teeny weeny babies eat crayons”.

“I am not a baby! And crayons are tasty! And… and… Fight me!!!”

“Oh, come on. I don’t fight tiny crybaby kids”, I tell him. Which is probably a bit too far, because the one thing Paps can’t be accused of is being a crybaby.

The next moment I really, really feel like apologizing, because he snatches something from a parcel and vooms away at an alarming speed, I mean, shouldn’t somebody get him a ticket? I run after him, of course.

“Come on, Paps, give it back!” I shout when I get closer to him.

“No-o-o! It is mine now! Mine!” he screams and runs faster.

We exit the house, run through the town – oh, I get the idea now – and of course, we end up at the labs. I bump into a few familiar backs and sides, managing to breathe out something very close to a “sorry”, and I think some guy ends up dropping a coffee because of me – whoops. I hope they will not bear a grudge, because a vengeful scientist is a local natural disaster, I kid you not, if you really piss them off, you will be lucky to find nothing bigger than a paint bomb in a drawer or a self-sustaining tornado in your bathtub… – ok, ok, I get you, you want to hear how the story ended, jeez. Can’t a skeleton take a pause, here and there? Oh, well.

Ok, so we are running, or determinedly stumbling forward in my case. Papyrus never slows down, and I am not a great runner, never was, so when I finally catch up with him he is already not alone.

G himself stands in front of him, with a pile of papers hiding his face, and it is clear that he doesn’t leave only because Paps is clinging to him like a snail to a trunk.

“Look what he bought! Look, look what he bought! He bought such a good thing and he didn’t want to show me! And also he said I was drunk!”

He looks back at me, and oh I hope my stare does a good job promising him a long and painful death tonight.

“Is it so”.

G looks away from his papers, and his voice is about as colorful as his lab coat – his face is close second. He sighs, takes the thing Paps is holding and examines it like it was a roadkill, and he was trying to understand if it was still breathing. Now I see what that thing really is. It is a whoopee cushion. The worst, silliest thing to look at, save for a rubber chicken, I guess.

“Is that so”, he repeats, looking at me now, and his eyes are just as cold and emotionless as when he was looking at the cushion.

“Um, yeah. Decided to treat myself”, I say, avoiding his eyes.

“Oh”. He takes the cushion with his two fingers and throws it aside. It falls on the ground with a sad little squash. “I wonder what made you think it was a good decision”.

I squint. Even Papyrus has caught on. He looks now me, now G, and his eyes are weirdly worried – an adult kind of worried, if you get what I mean. Slowly he releases G and steps away from him.

“From now on, make sure to discuss such expenditures with me”, G says quietly and without much interest. “I would rather you didn’t waste your time and money at such ridiculous junk”.

“What if I _like_ junk?” I ask, staring at the ground. “What if I like wasting?”

G pauses. I feel a tug at my sleeve. It’s Paps. He doesn’t look up at me.

“I am sure you do not want to discard your potential, concentrating on these… these… nuisances”.

“Huh? And what if I do? What if I just want to enjoy myself and waste away all the potential you think I have?! What will you do? Will _I_ be a nuisance too?!”

“Do not be ridiculous, Sans. You will never do something like that”.

“Now what if I _do_ ”.

“This is out of question. Anyway, I have business to attend, so if you have any _important_ questions to ask, it is your cue”.

“Those _are_ the important questions! So why don’t you just answer me, for once? Why don’t you just, I dunno, make it look like you care?!”

I am breathing heavily. Stars, was I carried away. Paps presses his whole body into me, as if trying to become as small as possible. G watches us for a couple of seconds, and I have enough time to hope that maybe this time I got through to him, but then he sighs and shakes his head.

“You are being ridiculous, Sans”, he says calmly. “However, I believe that is just the rebellious period which will soon pass. Go back home and think about your behavior. Take your brother with you”.

“Will you come back for dinner?” I say, because I don’t know what else to say.

“This is another stupid question. You know that I am far too busy. Now go. Behave”, he says and fades in a corridor in a frenzy of papers.

Well. We turn around and start to walk away. Paps is clinging to me. I notice he has something in his hand; he holds it out to me. It’s the cushion.

“I took it”, he says, too quietly for him. “I think you liked it”.

“Thanks, Paps”, I say, fidgeting with the cushion.

“Sorry for running away”. Barely a whisper now. Again that weird worry is in his eyes and his whole body. “I wanted to – I thought it will be funny. I thought we will like it and we will laugh and we will be…”

“Like before?” I say.

He looks away quickly.

“You can keep it”, he says louder. “I – I don’t like it anymore. You can keep it”.

I don’t really know what to do, so I stuff the cushion into my pocket and say “Thanks, Paps” again.

We walk back home in silence.

 

***

 

Of course, when we come back, the maid has already thrown all my packages away. She flutters her eyelids and bleats something like ‘but they were so dirty and full of weird things, and one of them looked like a _bomb’_ – for a moment I think about _actually_ making her alarm clock a bomb, not a deadly one, of course, because that would make a fine mess and we will have to deal with a new, less trained maid afterwards. But it would be nice to, you know. Teach her a lesson. Or maybe two. Or three. You would never guess how many house appliances can be turned into explosives.

…You know, I have a story about a dog and a bomb and a dog who is a bomb – it's a great story and I love it a lot but I don’t feel like telling it right now. Just remind me to tell it later, ok?

An-y-way. There is less than a day till G’s birthday, and I still do not know what to do – I am clueless. Desperate. I don’t even know if he will show up at all, and I have a growing suspicion he is not planning to. And in a fit of panic I phone one of G’s assistants, who is more like a babysitter: he makes sure G eats healthy food, sleeps well and doesn’t put sharp things in his mouth (at least not all the time). But hey, all of his assistants are like this; I heard somebody say that G is such a big wheel that people would do anything to work under his command – even make sure that this wheel rolls at the legally allowed speed and avoids road bumps and, you know, is not going to disintegrate itself by a mistake.

So I call that guy, his name is Barry or something, he is always joking with me when we meet, and he has a kick for accidental poetry. He picks up quickly, thank stars.

“What’s up, little guy? And please don’t say ‘the ceiling’, I cannot endure it for the n-th _time_. It would be such a horrid _crime_. …A bit too stretched, was it? Well, they cannot be all winners”.

See?

“Nah, it’s all fine. Also, what is ‘nth’?”

“I have no idea. I had to invent a number in order to deal with you. Look at what expenses I go, all for your sake”.

“Gee, thanks. I didn’t know you are so generous. Can I keep it to myself? I can only count up to thirty”.

“Yeah, sure. Consider it your prized possession. But really, is anything going _on_?.. Um. Because you are really accident- _prone_ …”

“Back again at it with your crazy rhymes, huh?” I say. The phone in my hand bursts with laughter. I love that guy. Platonically, I mean, do not ask if I have asked him out yet. And maybe do not write fanfiction about us? I already have Col on my hands, they are really eager to chat, even about people who are listening at the moment, and, well, they come up with some… interesting headcanons sometimes. “It is all right, but, um, I just, um, I wanted to ask if you maybe know what is – what is G up to tomorrow?”

“Oh? Hm, let me check his schedule. …Ok, so apparently there is a meeting with Asgore at nine o’clock, which is very early for him so I probably should prepare some extra coffee in advance… maybe some sedatives too, because it _is_ really weird between them as of lately… then an experiment at twelve, nothing serious, just testing a thing, it may turn out _either_ a really badass laser beam to blow up the Barrier _or_ a toaster. I myself would prefer a toaster, honestly, I miss a decent toast more than the Surface itself. Because, what if they have forgotten how to properly toast things up there? It is not a world I want to live in. Ok, then there’s a thing two hours later, when supposedly he will give us a speech on whatever he was trying to achieve with those blueprints, because no one really understands his theory as of yet. Don’t ask me, but there is something with Souls, I think. Not that I could decipher much. Then another bunch of tests, then… I am afraid he will be pretty busy all day, little man. Why are you asking? Planning a family picnic?”

“…I, I. Thank you. I think, I think it’s fine. It’s, well, it’s all I wanted to know. Ok. Thank you. Alright. Bye”.

“Hey- Hey, dude, don’t hang up on- don’t hang up on me, you _hear_? Cannot leave you like this, I _fear_. See? I am even putting extra effort into my rhymes, all for you. And there is no way I will let you hang up with a voice like that. What’s up?”

“The ceiling fan”.

“…ok, I walked right into it, little dude, I admit. But seriously, what… wait, wait. What date it is tomorrow?.. Oh. Oh no. No, no, I will _not_ allow that, not on my watch. Listen, that’s what we will do. To hell with meetings! To hell with Asgore!.. maybe do not tell anyone I told you _that_ , or I will be in trouble for _rioting_ or something. But hey, I think I will probably try to reschedule things a bit, to get you at least a few hours free, ok? After all, the info about the Royal Scientist not getting his annual day off will really piss off the union, will it? And I’ll think of some way to send him home so he can walk straight into a birthday party. And it’d better be something worthy of walking into, little guy!”

Did I say I love him? Ok, I adore him. And maybe asking him out is not a bad idea at all, when I come of age, I mean.

“Do you want to come too?”

“Pff. If only, little dude. If only. I am not a Royal Scientist, so no annual days off for me! But you all have fun over there – maybe send photos to me and some _cake_? Just to say thank you for getting G a _break_?”

“We will leave you the biggest piece. With at least three candles. Thank you, um – I mean it. Thank you”.

“No problem!.. Only, well, you know, maybe next time you are running in the labs – never knew you could run, by the way, _such_ a sensation – well, next time look first and run second, ok? I really liked how that coffee turned out, you know!”

…Oh.

“Oh, man, I’m sorry. Did it burn you?”

“Nah, not really, little man, not really. And I got some extra spare time, well, to go and find some clean clothes, so in all honesty I should be thanking you for giving me a sudden break. But still, watch where you go, ok? I have enough clumsy nerds around to have to worry about, well. One extra clumsy _skeleton_. Will you be careful? Thanks a _ton_ ”.

“Ok, ok, I will, heh. …Was it a pun _and_ a rhyme?”

“Maybe! Oh, I really gotta run. Was nice chatting with you, dude. See you!”

I hang up, grinning. Man, sometimes I think G’s coworkers are just too nice for him – for us all. You know how they say we all maybe lived before, in a different reincarnation? Maybe G spent his previous life saving stray kittens and helping out old people? I mean, he had to get that kind of karma somewhere.

So, I suddenly remember the birthday party. I have to speak to the maid, and she squeaks in excitement, pretty much like Papyrus does when I tell him too. I also manage to catch Bratty and Catty and drag them kicking and giggling into my lair (aka the dark depths of G’s house).

It looks as festive as you can imagine it. Well, there are some colored patches in places where we play or draw or, well, _live_ , but most of it is tile walls and tile floors and sterility. And neon lights, of course, those humming ones that make everything look like a low-budget horror film. But we all are determined! Paps makes some paper flowers, and I take up glitter, and the girls draw big bright posters. The maid – oh, right, her name was May or something – well, she seems to have some taste, because she puts those things in right places. And when we are finished, the place looks like a higher-budget horror film full of black humor and bad jokes.

I’d call that a success.

Then May… – no, I swear her name was something different, something about _seasons_ , ugh, Marta? April? J…Julia? June?.. Ok, I have no idea. I give up. Anyway, she starts her preparations to prepare a dinner, and suddenly she knows so many recipes and she asks us to choose our favorites – and suddenly I don’t want to explode her alarm clock that much – and in some twisted, turned, weird way the party starts taking shape. It is _not_ a shape geometry would approve of, but hey, take my word, staying in shape is hard, and I can’t blame our little party for not being able to shoulder this burden. I mean, it doesn’t even have shoulders to start with. _I_ have, but I wouldn’t shoulder it too. The only shape I can stay in is a _circle_.

(First they call it a perfect figure and then they say you have to watch yourself. Hey, I _do_ watch myself, but most of the time nothing is on air but a never-ending eating contest. I would get cable but it costs too much.)

(…and I trailed off again. Ok, ok, where was I? Let me get a map. Maybe I will find that track of thought again.)

Anyway, we invite everyone G would be moderately content to see in the same room with himself, there’s not much but we try our hardest, so we end with six or seven people in total. Those are mostly his coworkers, with an addition of a friendly neighbor who somehow has been greeting G every morning for ten years, bringing him home-cooked pastry and inviting him to the family dinners despite the fact that all they ever got in exchange were disinterested stares and occasional thank you-s.

The maid – okay, I will stick with calling her May for now – makes us go to bed in time, even though there is still plenty to do, and I bet she thinks she is behaving all motherly, which she isn’t. But in the morning, when we wake up, it smells like something really tasty, and the neon lights are suddenly all in bright lampshades, and I am not sure what changed about this place to make it look like a lived-in house and not like an abandoned asylum, but something _did_. While I help Paps out of his favorite pink pajamas and put on my own coat, I wonder begrudgingly if maybe, _maybe_ that May girl is better than the ones G hired before her.

She is definitely better than Lu, that old stinker.

Well, she announces that the breakfast is ready – by the way, remind me some time later to tell you about Lu – we rush to the kitchen and I have to catch Paps straight away so he doesn’t drown in the bowl of cream soup or something. We devour the pancakes (to the obligatory accompaniment of dinosaur noises, all thanks to Papyrus) and get a game of cards doing. I make patience while my bro tries to build a house of cards and hey, if the wind sometimes blows in the worst moment possible, whose fault is this? Mine? No, it can’t be, I cannot control nature. What do you mean _I_ am blowing? Lies. Lies and slander, and you have nothing on me.

Then the guests start arriving, and suddenly the party is on.

There is a table of food – salads and sandwiches and cake, all kinds of stuff; there are banners everywhere, and balloons, and a pile of paper hats at the door. We make everyone wear those. The guests are all adults, so of course they start talking about boring stuff straight away. One or two of them, the ones not really familiar with us, try to engage me and Paps in smalltalk. I wouldn’t mind it if their version of smalltalk didn’t involve _babytalk_ – I mean, babies _are_ small but even babies are not that dumb. Duh.

“Oh, you are such a big boy already! Who is that tall handsome monster? Aw, you squishy cheeks, what is your name? Tell unkie Prinnie what’s your name?”

Papyrus stares at him with wide confused eyes, than turns to me and beckons me to move closer.

“I think that mister is drunk”, he says in his most confidential whisper that is still heard well all around the room. Poor Mr. Prinston chokes on his grapes. “He talks really silly. Do you think he talks to me?”

“I guess”, I say.

“He is strange”, Paps mercilessly concludes. He huffs and turns to Mr. Prinston, who is currently busy being both embarrassed and offended. “Why do you talk to me like this? I am not a baby anymore. Oh, and my name is Papyrus! But it is written on my shirt. Maybe you can’t read? That’s fine! Reading is hard! I could teach you, if you want me to! I have nice books, with large letters and pictures and rhymes all over them – do you like bunnies or duckies more?”

Ha ha. Yeah, that is Paps for you – all helpful obliviousness. Mr. Prinston blushes a very interesting shade of blue and jibs to safety in the farthest corner, muttering something untranslatable.

“He _is_ strange”. Paps looks at the retreating back of Mr. Prinston, and his face settles in a frown. “All adults are strange”.

“ _I_ am not strange”, I say.

“You are not an adult”, Paps tells me. He is still thinking about something – looks like it isn’t a nice thing to think about. “I don’t want to grow up to be like him”.

“Then don’t”, I say, helpful as ever.

“But I will”, he sighs, and gee. That serious look doesn’t belong on his face at all. “I know that already. All kids have to grow, some time”.

“You are getting philosophical, bro. I thought I raised you better than that”. I nudge him with my elbow, and he huffs in offense. “But you don’t have to be an adult like that. You can be better”.

“All adults are like that”, Paps mutters. “They are strange. And boring. And sad”.

Oh.

“Paps”, I tell him. “Then you will have to be he strangest adult ever – because you will be _happy and interesting_ , okay?”

Paps thinks it over carefully, then beams and starts nodding so fervently that I am afraid his head will fall off.

Anyway, after that incident most people know better than to try and talk down to us. I actually get involved in a discussion of some experiment G has been supervising, and I pride myself on sneaking a remark or two on the subject. Paps is doing his own thing, being helpful and offering everyone drinks he made himself with paint, glitter and old lemonade. Col accidentally tastes it, and we all tense, waiting for him to drop down dead, but nope – he gulps the whole thing and praises Paps on his job, and I am torn wondering whether he is a really good actor or has really terrible taste buds.

Then the doorbell rings, and it feels like the whole world has dropped silent.

I walk to the door and grab the handle – my fingers don’t bend properly for some reason, so I have to clench my fists several times – I pull the door, and here he is.

G has come to his birthday party.

The moment’s silence is broken when everyone shouts out “Surprise!” and starts giggling. I freeze in place right before him while G stares, blinking. His face is blank. It is better than seeing him angry straight away, but it is still bad.

“Uh”, I say, just to say something.

G raises his brows, then takes his first step inside. He studies the room. I try to follow his stare, and it is as if I see it for the first time: unbearably bright balloons – greasy lousy homemade food – boring guests – Mr. Prinston devouring his grapes in the corner – stupid banners – stupid paper hats - …stupid me.

“Can you explain what is going on?” G says. He takes a few more steps, walking to the middle of the room. He waves. “What is with all this… chaos?”

“It’s a birthday party”, I mumble.

“Oh. Well, that makes sense”. He crosses his hands. “I wonder why you decided to host a _birthday party_ in _our house_ ”.

“Because it’s yours?” I say, feeling really dumb.

G seems taken aback by this. He frowns, clearly lost in dates. Then his face lightens momentarily.

“Oh. Right”. He looks around again, and now he seems to really take everything in, and I have a second full of hope all to myself before he sighs, straightens his back, and gets the same blank expression on. “I appreciate the sentiment. However, it was completely unnecessary. You should have devoted your time, money and efforts to something worthwhile”.

“Like science?” I say, and I feel like it is the same old question, the same old talk, the same old routine that has been going for us again, and again, and again.

He nods. “Yes. Exactly”.

“Then I am just an idiot”, I say, glaring. “Because I will never do what is worthwhile. I will only do what is right”.

“Those are basically the same thing, Sans”.

“No, they are not!..”

“Stop. You are getting emotional. Now, as I have said, I appreciate the sentiment. But I believe I am needed somewhere else at the moment. The only reason I came here anyway is because Barrfind told me there was an emergency at home”.

He turns away, and then-

And then I grab his SOUL.

Everyone stills, because it is magic, and magic can be dangerous if you fling it like crazy, and – and maybe I am flinging it like crazy, just a little bit, but you know what? To hell. To hell with it.

“Oh, _no_ ”, I say. “You are not going anywhere. You will stay, and you will listen. For the first time in your life”. He opens his mouth, and I flinch – my grasp on his SOUL grows tighter for a second. “No, I am the one talking now. And I am calling you on your bullshit. Bullshit!”

Paps is staring at me with those adult eyes again, and I distantly wonder just how much that kid understands. He looks up at the guests and says something to one of them, and somehow he manages to quietly usher them aside.

“You keep talking how you are doing everyone a favor by – by working yourself to _death_ or something – do you think they will be grateful when you dust early because you can’t take a damn _break_?! And, and – you said that you were working for _us_ , so we could have a nice life and we would see stars one day and – but you are a part of our life, and what is the point of seeing stars if we see _you_ just as rarely as we see _them_?! You are a part of this family, G, whether you like it or not, and-” my magic is failing, I am working myself up – “and, and maybe you should _act_ like it sometimes?!? Maybe you should remember sometimes that you have _us_ , and – I don’t care if you are needed somewhere else, I talked to Barry, he promised to – you are needed _right here_ , _right now_ , this is an _emergency_ , and if you _dare_ to leave right now, _oh so help me_!..”

There is a sound of glass shattering, and my magic slips. He is no longer blue. I don’t know what else to say. What else to do.

“J-just you dare to leave”, I say, just to say something.

There is a second when everything seems frozen in time. Then, with a blank face, G turns around and walks to the door.

I wrap my hands around myself and steal an apologetical glance at Paps, trying to convey ‘well, that’s it’, but then G pauses at the doorhold.

He turns to his left.

He takes a paper hat from the pile.

He turns around, fumbling with it, and for the first time in years he actually looks his age.

“Now”, he says calmly, “how do you put this thing on?”

 

***

 

And – well. Do I have to spell it? He stays, and the party goes wild.

Paps vrooms around the room, screaming with laughter. Adults are being adults. I sit in the corner, enjoying a piece of cake. May chirps about gossip and weather… oh wait. Wait. Her name is not May. Her name is _Paprika_. Yeah, I remember I thought how it was such an unusual name, like a… like a seasoning. Not _seasons_ , _seasoning_!

I am a dummy.

Anyway. When G’s annual day off is coming to a halt, everybody suddenly starts insisting on him opening their presents, and-

And.

Presents.

I forgot to buy G a present.

Seven minutes that he spends tearing through the packaging are filled with nothing but torment for me. I mentally search for something, anything I can give him – any present I can concoct – and there is nothing. No ideas. I am dry.

So, when it is my turn and everyone is suddenly looking at me expectantly – I choke on words. Oh my god. All eyes are on me. Even Paps drew him a picture. What should I do. What should I do.

I flex my fingers in my pockets and – and there is something there. Something packaged.

I should have known better. But no, my mind declared it a miracle, and apparently its best idea was to grab this something, tear it out, grab G’s hand and press the unknown object into his palm.

And… well, you must have understood where it was going.

The room is filled with a sound of a long toot, vibrating in the air. It drags on and on, G’s eyebrows rise higher and higher, and I cannot move, I cannot think, I cannot take my hand off so that the sound would stop. Not my best day, you see.

Finally it dies down. There is a few moments’ silence.

Then everyone loses it. Paps is laughing the loudest, of course, and G…

And G is grinning like an idiot.

“Is it revenge?” he says, and man, I haven’t seen him like this for ages. “This means war, then. Make sure to get prepared for my response”.

“Can you just kill me right now”, I say, and he laughs again, and it is not a bad sound.

And, even if I am destined to wake up to a nest of genetically modified bees in my room (which I am), I decide that from now on whoopee cushions will always occupy a corner in my heart. A stinky, dark, warm corner.

The bees give me purple acne, so we are even.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Two kids on a long, long walk.

We are jogging through the Hotland at a pace of a particularly desperate tortoise. Mostly because I am not quick on my feet even on better days, but also because Paps keeps dragging his feet as if he has forgotten how to walk. And I should probably tell him to hurry up, or to try and give him a piggy back ride – if he can still fit onto my back, that is, the kid’s a real beanstalk – but I do not. Maybe I am not so happy to be going forward either.

So. Uh.  
Well, who would've known.

Gaster was never a fine guardian, but he was a fine family, if you understand what I mean. And he didn't deserve what happened, no one did, and I guess it can be a bit rattling, and… well, just as I said once. You can't stay down forever. And after all, I have Paps to take care of.

So we go through the Hotland, farther and farther. I have my savings, of course, but I have wasted most of them just a week before the _thing_ on some shitty stupid game because I was being the shitty stupid me as usual, so they are not enough to pay for our place in the Home. They are not enough to pay for our food there, even. I was lucky Paprika was nice enough to not mention getting her payment for the last month. Or maybe she just forgot. I never understood her well. But she packed us some food, so I guess she really _is_ nice. Lu would probably rob me of my money and kick us out in just some torn towels and shout something nasty to get us going, but that’s Lu and I think no one could ever come close to Lu.

I would tell you exactly what Lu did, but I am not in the mood right now.

Remember how I said I don’t want to spend my whole life with a whiny toddler? Now all of a sudden it doesn’t seem all that bad to me. Especially when compared to spending my whole life… Ah. Well, putting things into perspective really broadens your mind, heh.

Paps is not a toddler anymore, anyway. He is big enough to understand things, to get the message that something just has to be done, _okay_? But not big enough to go and do that immediately without any regrets. I think I am not big enough for that, either.

I pull his hand, and he sighs and keeps walking. The farther from Home, the less money you need to get by. Maybe I will find some odd jobs, or charm some old people so they’d give us a place to stay. The labs are in ruins and no one knows what to do, and – people who could help us are all hurt, dead or busy sorting through the mess, and – I don’t have time to think about this. I don’t. I must keep going and I must get Paps away because we are not going to an orphanage. They’d separate us. And okay, now I am _really_ eager to cling to that one whiny toddler for the rest of my life and a little longer.

He does not whine anymore, though. He has always been a bit precocious, but now he seems almost mature. It is convenient, but it scares me.

Maybe I have changed, too. Just did not understand that.

Now it’s his turn to pull me along because I got carried away and stopped. Papyrus looks at me, tugging onto his shirt, and I can tell that he wants to say something but I don’t let him. I cannot speak about this, I cannot think about this too hard, or I will fall apart and I’m not sure I’ll be able to pull myself together again and I can’t fall apart, not now. Not until we are safe.

“I am hungry”, Paps says, quietly. He sounds both demanding and guilty for asking at the same time.

I sigh. We have food, but not much of it. “Later, okay? Let’s get to Waterfall, and then…” And then we’ll get to the place we always went to when G had a little spare time, and we’ll get a telescope and a picnic basket and we’ll stare up at the crystals hearing the same lecture about the stars that he always tells there-

No. No, no, no. I shake my head. “Just, just a little longer, okay? I am hungry too, but…” I stop because suddenly I hear something and, as I turn around, I see that Paps’ face is scrunched so hard that it’s a wonder that it has not crumbled completely yet, and there are tears and snot and the beginning of a wail and he is trying to push it all back to where it came from but he is failing. His trail of thought must have gone the same alley mine did, and. Well.

“Ah, Paps…” I don’t know what to say. Heck. I still don’t know what to say to _myself_. So I just put the bags down and sink to my knees and hug him sloppily, and he clings to me for dear life and sobs into my ribcage, and – I hate the fact that he is trying to do it _quietly_. Kids of his age should not be trying to cause as little trouble as possible because their unfortunate guardians don’t have enough time for them, and… oh, geez. He was _always_ a bit like this, I understand suddenly. Maybe G _really_ was not a good guardian. Not really fit to it. But he tried hard, and we don’t have that now either, and-

I hug Paps tighter because, if I think for a moment more about everything I am trying so hard to forget ( _stars and labs and the usual havoc there and experiments and the way he slurped on his coffee and his fingers shook from the caffeine and Barry’s rhymes and Col’s weird spying habits and the party and Paprika’s hands and our room in our house among our friends in a city we were born in_ ) – if I think about it at all, I will start crying too and that would be embarrassing. I am too old for this.

“Come on, Paps”, I say, rubbing his back. The kid chokes on a sniffle and smudges his tears all over my shirt. That’s fine, I never really liked that shirt. I try to think of something to say, like that everything’s gonna be okay, but I can’t. I’d have to lie, and, even though he believes most things you tell him, I have a feeling he’d see through that one. “It’s… look, I am sad too, okay? It is – look. We really have to keep going. Please.”

Hiccupping, Papyrus nods and wipes his face somewhat, and we start off once again, though he is still crying. He just stumbles along, face dark and wet and miserable, and lets me lead him wherever I want because he is too busy being stuck in his head. And I know I should… do something. I know. I know I should comfort him or hug him a little longer or, I don’t know, take at least _some_ action so that he doesn’t have to bawl like that. But I have to get us away and I have to keep myself together. And that takes a priority.

I don’t know how to comfort people, anyway. I would probably try to make a joke. There’s no way that’d end well.

So we keep walking, and at some point Paps stops sobbing and then he stops tearing up and then even the hiccups go away, and when I look at him he smiles. It looks sincere enough to me.

“You okay?”

“Y-yeah”, he says. “I’m fine. Thinking about, um…” He glances around sneakily. “Lava? It is, um, very bright, and hot, and… lava.”

…Well. Maybe I am giving him too much credit, after all, and that’s just how all kids are. It is not like I ever dealt with many toddlers. I don’t think children are supposed to grieve much, anyway, they are too easy to distract. He’ll probably be alright very soon, I just need to find something to catch his attention.

“Ah, um”- I cough. Paps looks at me without much interest. “Do you know lava is like magma that came to the surface? So technically, everything around us is still magma. Since we are still underground.”

He shrugs. “Okay.”

…That was lame even for me. But at least he does not look so forlorn anymore. He looks like he has just understood something; he stares at me strangely for a couple of seconds and then suddenly turns his head around and looks at lava, and – I think I can catch him peering at me carefully from the corner of my eye, but when I turn around, he is eyeing the red streams with interest. Maybe I just imagined it.

“It is very – _interesting_!” he says, smiling, squeezing my hand a little tighter. “Tell me more!”

See? _Children_. I sigh with relief and start telling him everything I know about magma and tectonic processes. He seems a bit sad, but curious.

I catch him wincing a few times, I think, but when I look at him carefully I see no signs that his face has dropped the way I thought it did, so I must be still imagining things. So he must be alright. He must be. He is a kid; kids aren’t that complicated. I need to get him a toy, maybe. Something to take his mind off the topic.

So we get to the Waterfall and sit down to rest. Paps’ face is wet again but that must be just the perspiration because everything becomes wet very soon. We chew on some sandwiches. There is not enough relish and the bread has become cold and soggy. But that’s all we’ve got, aside from a thermos with tea. I drink and then let Paps drink too after he pulls me on the sleeve. It’s not so bad, honestly.

I pick up the bags again. I am worried about the machinery there – I took some with me, to sell it maybe or to take it apart and assemble something more useful. I got rid of my phone, though. I did not want them to find us. Those people are terrible – shitheads, G would call them. They just came and probed, probed, probed around and asked us stupid things and told us _everything’s gonna be okay_ even when it was clear it would not be, and then they went on about foster families and – but I knew, _everyone_ knows that no one picks two kids of different age at the same time. They’d put us into different families and who knows what sort of people would try to raise us. Maybe they won’t even let me visit Paps. Maybe they’ll try to stuff me into some tiny closet under the stairs and feed me nothing but oatmeal without dinosaur eggs. Maybe they’d try and take the science away from me and put into some awful school with all the teachers like the old Lu. Maybe they’d just be really awful. No one knows.

Besides, I promised G I’d take care of my lil’ bro. I never did well on that promise but I am not going to break it.

Paps sighs, rubbing his chest. He looks at the grass around us a little hungrily, but we have nothing else and I pull him on. He whines a little, but he knows it won’t change anything, so he falls quiet and carries on.

We manage to walk a little farther. Then it is very late and we both are yawning, so I call it a day. We find a little cave and curl inside, using our spare clothes as sleeping bags. It is not the best idea. Paps shifts and rolls and says that it’s cold and hard, and adds quickly that he’s not complaining and this is actually exciting and we are like brave adventurers in an unknown land, and then he starts blubbering and I stop listening. He does not need much encouragement to go on anyway. I get by with only occasional yay-s and hmm-s and really?-s.

At some point his chatter begins to die down. He is still restless, but his eyes keep closing and then he starts snoring mid-sentence. I look at him and sigh. I wish I could fall asleep that easy. I don’t want to. I am really tired but I don’t want to.

G would tell me to keep my health in mind. G would say spending a night on cold hard ground can ruin my body and I know that and I should be more careful and… well, he isn’t here, and there is no other choice.

Maybe _I_ know better this time.

I lie down and close my eyes and try to fall asleep.

 

***

 

I don’t realize when I do. But I apparently do, at some point.

Because next time I open my eyes it feels like a new day and my body feels like a lump of wet coals. Maybe G was right about _some_ things.

Paps is already awake and busying himself with some rocks. He helps me up and rubs my sore back and shoulders expertly, and then introduces me to his new friends: a family of Mrs. Big Rock, her wife Mrs. Shiny Rock, and their children Rocky, Rocko, Rocklet, Rocket and Rickroll. He says that last one is a huge prankster. I don’t get the joke. He shrugs and says there is none. Well, okay.

Maybe I should get him a pet rock some time. Heh.

Anyway, we get going, or try to, but my bones are awfully uncooperative today and Papyrus ends up giving me a piggy back ride. This is humiliating. _I_ am the big brother. This is supposed to work the other way around.

He chirps that I am actually really light. Oh, for god’s sake.

I give his skull a spiteful wet _lick_. He shrieks in disgust and screams at me to _wipe it off right now_ , and I obey because his holy wrath is too loud for my liking.

We walk on and on. Waterfall is actually pretty huge. Especially since we have no idea where to go, and I must be not as light as Paps claims because he starts slowing down. We make a few stops on our way for him to catch his breath. He is hungry. I am too. But there is nothing we can do about it.

We pass some children, playing together. They ask us if we want to join their game of hide-and-seek. Papyrus opens his mouth, but I tell them we are in an awful hurry and jerk his collar so he keeps walking. He is not happy about this, I can tell, but he obeys.

I know what I am doing, I tell him. I know what to do. He only needs to listen to me.

I try walking again, more successfully this time. Paps looks relieved. We keep walking as long as we can, then collapse in some other cave. This night is no better. Even my bro does not speak too much. He looks at me desperately and asks if he can snuggle to me today. I don’t mind, so he crawls closer to me and falls asleep with his face in my ribcage. He is warm, and he drools a bit. I watch him, because for some reason it is weirdly comforting to see his chest move slowly as he breathes.

And then… it blends together. We forage for food. I buy us some apples and tea from a chuckling vendor. Paps carries me around. I refuse to think about anything except most recent problems. We find a cave and go to sleep. We wake up. We go farther. We forage for food. Paps carries me. We sleep. We wake up. We forage. We sleep. We wake up. We forage. We sleep. We wake up. Sleep. Wake up. Sleep. Wake up. Sleep. Everything is repetitive, so I don’t realize at once what is going on. We should be in Snowdin already, but I don’t realize.

It doesn’t click until we see the empty tea packages. Paps grows quiet and sets me on the ground, and I say something about tea being a popular beverage as he walks closer to them, and he picks one up and turns back to me.

It is his. Only Paps bends his straws this impossible way.

We are _walking in circles_.

I stutter. I want to bawl. This can’t be real. I know we cannot navigate Waterfall well, we have never been here enough to learn the pathways, but –

Paps is looking at me, and I know he needs me to say something. Anything. I have to, find the right words, have to comfort him, have to be the bigger brother, have to, have to…

I stand up. My legs are wobbly and achy. Paps is still watching me, and his fingers crumble the empty wrapper.

I make a step.

It is a step back.

I make another step, and then I am running.

 

***

 

I don’t run away too far. I stumble at some point and come crashing, just like all my dreams and plans and my life itself. Only my crash is not as disastrous and much less dramatic. I simply fall over with an ouch.

I do not bother getting back up.

The ground is cold and hard and it is definitely messing with my health to lie like this and to fall like this and to eat like this but what the point, what the point, what the point –

G would probably tell me I am freaking over nuisances.

G would _definitely_ tell me to get up.

But G is not here.

And… okay. I am crying. I was for some time. I think I started tearing when I started running. But I cannot do this. I cannot. Not anymore. I cannot do this alone, I was stupid when I thought I could take care of Paps myself, I did not think it through, I should have let them take him away and put him into some proper family with proper food and proper bed and proper toys and, and…

And I need G. I miss him. I miss Barry. I miss Paprika. I miss them all. I miss having friends and a proper bed and toys and food, and maybe we never had a proper family but I miss what we had anyway. I miss not hurting. I miss playing with Paps. I miss my life.

I miss not having that responsibility.

And… I am so _scared_. Scared that someone will take Paps away. Scared that he will want to leave. Scared that I will be left completely alone in this world because god, I wouldn’t know how to keep on living. I would just crumble like a used tea package. I can’t do this. I can’t lose Papyrus. Not him. Anything but him.

I am stuck inside my head, but I am not too far gone to notice Papyrus running up to me, and I would be ashamed of sobbing like a baby if he wasn’t all watery-eyed himself. He clings to me, and – and he starts _apologizing_.

“I am sorry, I didn’t mean to – I should have looked better, and it’s all my fault – I am sorry for finding that wrapper, I, I am really bad”, he says. He is all shaking. “Please, I will be good, just don’t leave me, _please_. I don’t w-want to be alone and I d-don’t want to go – I don’t, I…”

He clings to me, and I don’t know what to say. Again. I don’t know what to do. Again. I don’t know what is right and what is wrong and what is morally grey.

But I have to do something. I am the bigger brother. I may be useless. But I have to try.

“Knock knock”, I say.

Paps is dumbfounded enough to stop crying.

I sit up, wipe my face and grin at him. “I said. Knock knock. Come on, are you going to leave me out waiting? You are so cruel.”

“It is – not _funny_ ”, Paps sobs. I press his head to my chest.

“Sorry. I know. But still.”

He is silent for a moment. Then…

“…who’s there.”

I pause. “…Um. Actually, I didn’t think it through that far.”

Papyrus sighs and hugs me, and –

“Um-actually-I-didn’t-think-it-through-that-far who?”

I make a double-take and howl with laughter. “Okay. You slew me just now. Completely obliterated. I am very dead.”

Paps smiles at me feebly and pats my head. “No. You are alive.”

“Nope. I am… _Sans_.”

“ _Sans_!” A pat turns into a smack. I don’t mind. At least when Paps is angry he is not sad. “Stop this! I am serious!”

“I thought you were _Papyrus_.”

“Nghhh!” He throws his arms up and stands up. “I changed my mind! I am leaving!!!”

“Oh, come on”, I say, and even though I know he was joking it still sends a shiver through me. “Sorry. I won’t do it again, promise.”

“…Promise?”

“Yeah. Come on. Don’t be mad at me.”

And I stretch my hand.

…Yeah. That is exactly what you are thinking it is.

Paps takes my hand without much thought –

“PFFBTBFFFTBBFFFFFFFT”

He stares at me. I stare back. There is a long unnerving pause full of farting sounds.

Then Paps screeches and I get running and he chases me and…

And some time later we somehow end up in a weird hug. It is not sloppy. We hold on as tight as we can.

“Don’t leave me, please”, Paps says.

“I won’t. Promise.”

And the only thing I am still certain about is that no matter what, I will keep that promise.


	3. Chapter 3

So on one of those Desperate Housewives weekly meetings I catch on some interesting words in between a motivational talk and a simple three-course Sunday meal recipe.

(No, it’s not your clue to laugh, I really go there. Maybe not weekly, but still. First, their tragic silence really brings out jokes. Second, when they are not ranting about their lousy partners and unruly kids, they actually share some good advice about holding together the household. I’ve tried to learn that by myself, from books, but it seems that “How to House” is written by the same guy who wrote “How to Date” and “How to Friend”, and he is a mess in all three.)

Anyway, while I’m writing down that garlic sauce, I overhear an interesting line. And later I go on to those two Desperate Housewives standing in the corner. They _do_ look desperate, enough to eye _me_ with interest, but no, that guy is taken. My hands are already full with Papyrus.

“Hey there”, I say. “We didn’t really talk before, but…”

“And it is _such_ a shame”, says one of them with a really unsettling smile.

“Yeah, Sansy!” another one chirps, elbowing her pal eagerly. “That is _just_ what I was saying right now while we were talking about you! Right, Jessie? Right? Oh, never mind him, Sansy, he is just really shy today”.

“Ok, fine”, I say. “It’s really sweet and not creepy at all. Anyway, you said something about some auditions going on, what was that?”

“Oh!” The talkative one hops and suddenly appears too close to me to my liking. She makes a sly face and poses. “Yeah! That new Mettaton guy – he is so _very_ cute, _very_ , even though he is a bit too geometric, - he is holding some contest of sorts, and if he likes someone they are going to get a job! A classy one, in a place right under the Capital. I heard the king handed the old memorial place over to him! Said it was better to laugh than to cry at a time like this and… Oh, right, I heard the winner also gets the reservation at the new restaurant, – forever, both for him and for his _pa-artner_ …”

She rubs her shoulder against me, very suggestively, and Jessie’s smile gets disgustingly sweet, and I decide I had enough.

“Yeah, ok, fine, sounds great. Thanks for the info, really helped me out. So, what do you think about that tomato soup of Maggie’s? I thought it was a bit too oily, no?”

Their faces fall, and they seem to suddenly remember that they are housewives and that they are desperate.

“Yep, definitely”, the chatty one says with a tired look. “Right, Jessie? That’s _just_ what I was saying. Too oily. Too greasy”.

“ _Very_ greasy”, Jessie nods solemnly. “To think she’d offer _that_ to her kids! Maybe it’s better not to fry it all beforehand”.

“What is so wrong with grease?” I say.

They immediately glare at me, and I understand that probably I will be safe from suggestive rubs at least in the nearest future.

“For kids!” cries out Jessie. “Disgusting!”

“ _Very_ disgusting”, the chatterbox adds, quickly stepping away.

So soon after that they release me. I check on Papyrus quickly, even though it’s probably not necessary – he is a big guy already, he can manage himself, - and then I go to Hotland. As far as I know, Mettaton is kind of closely related to an old friend of mine, and maybe her influence will be enough to get me a vacancy.

When I get to Alphys’ lab, it is really dusty, really dark and almost completely empty, and only a stream of light emerging from a pile of notes and empty packages tells me where she is.

I walk closer, look underneath the papers and find a point of a yellow tail. I tug it slightly. “Hey there, Alph”.

“Nnnot now”, says the pile, and the tail slightly twitches. “I’m _very_ busy, go away _please_ ”.

“Oh come on”.

“Nooooooo”.

I sigh, turn on the lights, grab her by the tail and pull her away, and finally I get to see the famous Royal Scientist – disheveled, with her coat askew, and somehow greyer than always. She squeals, rolls into a ball and hisses at the lamps. The pile of papers crumbles in on itself like a tiny avalanche.

“Put me back! I need just a minute, I almost got that done!”

“Alphys, how long have you been working there?” I touch the computer – oh, I bet she could fry eggs on it if she wanted to.

“Just an hour”, she says. I stare at her. “Well, maybe two. Maybe three”, she yields reluctantly.

“Look, no one can eat that amount of fast food in three hours”.

“Says you”.

“Fair point”, I admit. “Still, it looks like you have been stuck here for weeks. Come on. You need some metaphorical fresh air. At least move around a bit”.

She tries to stretch and hisses again from the pain. “You are a tyrant”, she says wryly, shaking her hips, and a bit of the grey flies off her; seems it was simply dust - the normal kind. I wonder if those threads on her horns are cobweb. I feel a bit guilty for not checking on her earlier.

“Hey, you’d do the same for me. You already have”. It’s true, sometimes you need a friend who’d kick you away from science when you start thinking that the results are more important than sleep. Yeah, yeah, sometimes such a thought gets in my head, I know it is surprising. Well, no one is immune to sudden workaholism, and they haven’t created any vaccines yet.

A sigh. “Ok. Ok, fine. It’s just, I really think I may be up to something this time. The battery is still a mess, but I made a thing for the algorithm of face change, I think it should work, I didn’t test it yet, but-”

“Alph”. I put my hands up. “Look, stop. Stop. Or your head will explode. Think about something that isn’t work. Heck, you can even talk about anime, I won’t mind”.

“If only that was that easy”, she mumbles. Then she offers me a small smile edging from shyness to slyness. “W-wait! Did you just say you didn’t mind me rambling? Because I have a new episode to discuss, and no one around here appreciates the latest character development of Reigan-kun”.

Heh. That’s why we are buddies. Alphys may be just a little bit childish, but I don’t care. When everything changes, it’s kind of good to have a friend that never grows up. And, well, when I decide to be an ass and get annoyed at that, I drag myself to a mirror, shrug at what I see there and go back to discussing the clear advantages of subs over dubs or something.

“Yeah, fine, just not right now. By the way, now that you are mostly back to your senses, I don’t think I have greeted you properly, and the sight of your smiling face really deserves a grand welcome”. I offer her a hand.

“Thirty-seven”, she says with a look of a martyr dying for a noble cause. “That many times you tried to pull that farting trick with me. Sans, I appreciate your sense of humor, but…”

“Oh, come on”, I say. “Why don’t you humour me just once?”

“And I heard _that_ a hundred and eighteen times”, she says.

“Wow, I didn’t know we go that far back. Hey, you are smiling!”

“Only out of habit. Oh, I – I hope it didn’t sound too rude…”

I chuckle. Well, when your terrible jokes become a joke on their own, it shows that a friendship came out alright.

“Actually, I am kind of being really selfish here”. That gets me a raised eyebrow. “Yep. I must admit, at the moment I am trying to exploit our deep emotional bond in order to get a fancy promotion by blackmail and cheating”.

“Oh, right. I wondered when you would decide to make use of my position. Because you are, um. A real social climber”, she says with a terribly serious face. “Very pragmatic. Bursting with ambitions. Practically a workabee”. At this moment we both start giggling.

“Yeah. Obviously I am striped and buzzing all the time”. She snorts, even though I know myself it wasn’t too funny. “Anyway, I am serious about that one. I really need a job, Alph. I mean it. You are all buddies with Mettaton, and he is holding that audition thing right now, and… well, I guess you’d know what buttons to press”.

“If you need money, you are always welcome at the labs”, she says, averting her eyes. That makes me feel uneasy. She sounds as if I abandoned her all alone here, which is kind of true, and maybe I really need to check on her more often.

But… well, I tried working here. I got the position easily, what with G’s heritage, and it was good, and I liked it, but there were the memories lurking in every corner and Paps kept looking at me in the mornings as if he expected to never see me again and after him calling me in a thousandth time to ask me if I was still alive… in a word, I understood it didn’t do us any good and quit.

I was always waiting for G to stroll by. It is hard to live while holding your breath for something that will never happen. But at least I got to know Alphys, so it wasn’t a complete disaster.

“I know, but, well. You know my deal. I can’t afford to settle down here again, and research is not the kind of job you can do part-time. I would love to, I really would, but with Paps on my hands it won’t do”. I send her an apologizing look. It’s unfair to play that ‘single brother raising a little kid’ card on her, but it is easier than explaining the whole deal. “And that stage thing at the Mettaton’s place? It is awesome. Big money, little hours, and lots of unsuspecting people to test my skills on”.

“I guess”, Alphys says with a sigh. “B-but, um. The lab order still stays. If. If you ever feel like it”. She smiles, a little bit anxiously. Then her face drops. “And, um, well, Sans. I, um. I don’t think I will help you there”.

“But why?” I feel sincerely offended. “Geez, I thought we were joking about that whole social climber thing! It’s not like I’m trying to _really_ exploit you or-”

Alphys looks at me with horror. “Oh, it’s, it’s nothing l-like that! I mean, I don’t, it’s not like I am trying to g-get back at you or s-something…” She flappers helplessly. “It’s just, I really _can’t_ make him do something he doesn’t want to. He doesn’t exactly listen to me…”

I feel like a trashbag. “Oh, Alphys. Alph, sorry. But I thought you were like his mom, or what?”

“As if. I… I don’t think he thinks we are friends, even”, she mumbles. “Oh. I didn’t m-mean to sulk. Sorry. It’s just that, I can recommend you to him, but then you will have to work yourself”.

I rub the back of my skull and shrug.

“Ugh. Well, that is already more than nothing. At least tell him about me. So when he sees my name on an application, he will think ‘Oh, that is that fancy-shmancy guy Alphys told me so much about’, rather than ‘Oh, it’s some random guy I don’t know and don’t care if his papers will be used for wiping my awesome screen”.

She smiles a little. “Fine. I will do it. Who am I to stop my overly practical friend from taking the social ladder by storm?"

“Yeah. Let’s hope I don’t thunder down too quickly”, I say, and her giggling feels like a nice final touch to the conversation.

Anyway, I officially receive her blessing and go on to my application. After I polish it for like a week, I decide I’m good and put it in. Naturally right after that I get cold feet, but what’s done is done, and I dedicate the following days to Papyrus. The kid’s got a thing for engineering, I think, and I probably should get him to see Alphys some time, but now it only is showing in the number of puzzles that he made out of paper mash and pure stubbornness. But well, that cannot go on endlessly.

One day the phone rings, and a sweet voice tells me my interview will be at that-and-that place and time, and suddenly I am in a rush. I go and buy a tie with the last of my money, because I don’t have enough for a suit, and I wash up and polish my skull, and brush my teeth; in a word, I wholly indulge in personal hygiene. It is a classy place, that MTT-in-construction-Resort, and I don’t want to stand out too much. I put on a clean shirt and iron my trousers, and Paps gives me a go-ahead, and so I leave.

And then I shortcut into a bag of plaster.

I mean, I took a wild guess, and teleporting to a place you don’t know the exact coordinates of is a real bust, but I was panicking, ok? Anyway, when I manage to pull away, I am all white and dusty like a serial killer, and some passerby workers growl at me. The place is all in scaffolding still, but, judging by the amount of glitter stored around, it will sparkle very soon. Some guys are working over the old memorial statue, trying to push it away and onto a large cart. Well, it may seem a bit heartless, but I kind of can understand Asgore: if someone put a statue of G in _my_ backyard, I wouldn’t be too grateful too.

A grumbly old worker shows me the way to the office, and then the time is due, and when I am basically thrown into Mettaton’s door I realize I don’t have enough time to dust myself off (but maybe enough to simply _dust myself_ , ha ha). And so I appear before his eyes, all shaggy and white and – oh. I didn’t notice, but it was a fine gesture to draw a smiling skull on my new tie, Paps, a real brilliant move. Great. Just, wonderful.

“So, um, hello”, I say just to say something.

Mettaton is currently posing before a large mirror, but he whirls closer upon seeing me. “OOOOOOH, YOU MUST BE THE SANS MY DEAR ALPHYS TOLD ME ABOUT!” he buzzes, and I never thought that somebody can sound both like a flirt _and_ like a calculator.

“Yeah”.

He squeezes my shoulders and gives me a look. “HMMM. YOU ARE _JUST_ LIKE I IMAGINED YOU!” I feel honestly attacked. “I CAN TELL YOU ARE ALPHIES’ BEST FRIEND FROM THE FIRST SIGHT! NOW, NOW. SHE TOLD ME A LOT ABOUT YOU, AND I’VE READ YOUR PAPER. NOW”, and a finger is poked in my ribs. Feels a little better than being shot. “NOW IT IS YOUR TIME TO TELL ME ABOUT YOURSELF. GIVE ME THE _BEST_ FIRST IMPRESSION! SHOW ME I REALLY _HAVE_ TO HIRE YOU!”

“Ok. Easy-peasy”, I say. Oh, no, did it sound too childish? Should’ve said ‘piece of pie’, why didn’t I say ‘piece of pie’? Ugh, the pause is getting too long, and I probably look like an idiot, grieving over my word choice. “Um. So, my name is Sans. And I am, um, a comedian. An amateur one, I mean, I never did it on the scene, but I – I am very experienced, I’ve been doing this for, like, more than eight years, and…” Somehow I feel like I am ranting to the support group of Desperate Housewives. “Oh, yeah, also I am funny. Very funny. My brother says I am hilarious”, say I, feeling just a little bit bolder. “Want to hear about my brother? He is such a cool little bean, and…”

Mettaton leans uncomfortably close to me.

“DARLING, I THINK I ASKED YOU TO TELL ME ABOUT _YOU_ , NOT ABOUT THAT BROTHER OF YOURS!” he buzzes with disappointment. One of his cables hangs loose, brushing me on my shoulder.

I shrug, sweating. Oh great, it’s a bust. Well, it’s not like I held any hopes about it, but it still is a shame. Heh, ok, it probably doesn’t matter anymore what I say, right? Might as well have a little last laugh.

“Heh, sorry, I guess I am a little bit…” I point on the cable sticking to my arm. “Wired up?”

Mettaton looks at the wire, then at me, then again at the wire, then again at me, and his screen is just as emotional as my smile is.

“Yeah, right”, I say, shrugging. “I mean, this whole deal, it gave me quite a shock. But what else could I expect? All you guys here, all buttoned up, wheeling past at such a speed. It is all really hard to me for contem-plate. Heh, but I was happy beyond cords to get a chance at least. And, well, I tried, but I’m just not cable to do much. I’m not programmed for this”. I make a little turn to illustrate myself, but trip over an untied shoelace and gracefully whop down. “Heh. I surely didn’t have a rub of the screen today”.

There is a long pause full of static noise. I don’t bother to get up and continue shrugging on the floor.

“HM… I CAN SEE WHERE TO START FROM…” Mettaton muses finally. Then he jerks me up only to wrap his hands around me thrice. I don’t realize that means good news, and when I do I feel rather numb from the shock. Or maybe it’s simply because Mettaton’s loose cable really did shock me. Who knows. “WELL, DARLING! I THINK I’D GIVE AN ASPIRING TALENT A CHANCE! AND I BELIEVE I SHOULD GET YOU HOOKED WITH SNOWVERN! I HAVE A FEELING YOU TWO WILL REALLY GET ALONG~”

Even though that last tilda really leaves me unsettled, I humbly nod my agreement and let him drag me over to some feathery guy. He looks slightly like the kids from Snowdin I met the other day.

“SNOWERY, DEAR, I HAVE A YOUNG TALENT HERE! I FEEL LIKE YOU TWO SHOULD TUNE IN TOGETHER!”

“Nah, that will be one hell of a melody”, I say and finish it with a sad trombone note – leave them guessing where that came from.

Snowvern laughs hoarsely at this, and I think that maybe monsters here are not that bad.

“Haha. I remember when I was young”, he says in an uptight, cheery voice. “I had some big dreams and some tiny brains! Had to strive hard to get anywhere. Once I caught a rat for dinner and only after eating it I realized it was in fact my boot”. For a second I try to painfully guess whether I should laugh or give him condolences. “Ha ha ha!” he says then, in that cheery voice, and I just manage a chuckle when he follows gravely: “That is not funny”.

I giggle and decide that I really like the style of that guy.

“Yeah, right. Sorry for your loss. Anyway, nice to meet you”, I say and raise my hand for him to shake, palm up. He nods and takes it… and, well, I guess we all know what is coming, right?

Heh, some jokes get only better with time.

They both stand very still and stare at me while the sound drags on. Their faces – well, a face and a screen – are really indescribable. I make a mental note to congratulate Alphys on doing such a great job; it is not easy to create such a deep expression of utter confusion with LED lights.

“Well”, Snowvern says finally and starts cackling. “Well! That is certainly a way to make an impression”.

Mettaton slowly turns around, throws his hands up and wheels away. Wow, I managed to piss my boss off before he even became my boss! I am actually making progress!

Anyway, they actually hire me. I lie profusely about my skills and qualifications and even add a bit to my age. I mean, it is double digits already, so it’s not a big deal. And for a couple of years I am a usual visitor on MTT’s stage, every Thursday and Friday from five to eight, when I don’t have a meeting with my support group.

Except some years later Snowvern asks me: “So, how old are you?” and I say: “Twenty-two”, and I _remember_ only when he looks long and hard at me. I’m afraid that he’ll fire me, but nah, he just shrugs and says: “Looking lively as ever”.

No, seriously, I like his style.


End file.
